What a glorious morning I've had!

Martin at work, Joe at nursery, Seb a long way away in Chester (thank goodness. I'm determined to get him out of my system, the sooner the better). It's just been me and the sheep, basking in a touch of early spring sunshine and turfing all the muck and crap out of their stable. There's something lovely about the copious amounts of mud and mess that clog up your wellies, and the raw smell of animals that can't be equalled elsewhere. I generally find myself stopping every few minutes, leaning on my fork and grinning stupidly. Romantic, but not very practical.

The animals seemed to like their clean abode and promptly dropped a few marbles on the clean straw to show their appreciation while I struggled with an overfull barrow that was intent on tipping up and pulling me down with it. I'm glad to say my muscles and sheer willpower prevailed and I've only ended up with two minor bruises instead of the usual crop on my legs this time.

Tea from a flask may taste peculiar at the best of times, but when you're perched on a warm straw bale, gazing at a stream, it's got to be heaven in anyone's book.